It's a Boy!

 

I was looking for Christmas cards the other day and came across one that was all blue. (I'm not a fan of blue cards.) But this one . . . it caught my eye. Stenciled across its face were three short words.  Just three.

 "It's a BOY!"

 Because apparently sometimes we need reminding that Christmas is about Christ's birth. And sometimes over Christmas, we Christians can be the biggest non-celebrators (those who don't celebrate) of the real holiday that there are. Of course we go out and buy presents, we deck the halls, we stuff a turkey, we even buy an Angel Tree gift for the needy children in our church, but where's the birthday cake?

In our house, on someone's birthday, we pull out all the stops.  I mean, really.  We go crazy.  We do, say, and cook ALL the birthday person's favorite things. You want to eat a pound of bacon for your birthday?  Sounds great.  You want to have a medieval knight birthday party complete with handmade wooden shields?  Got it.  I live for those days.  I’m GREAT at those days.  Tell me what gets your heart pumping, and I will do my darndest to make it happen on your birthday.

But I have to ask.

Where are all of Jesus' favorite things?

I wonder if he would have preferred to hear our beautiful choir singing the Hallelujah Chorus in the Wal-Mart Parking lot while we handed out cups of hot cocoa and gift cards instead of inside our tired sanctuary with raspberry jam colored carpet where everyone is sparkling like disco balls and the lost tend not to come.

 I wonder if he would have preferred less fancy Christmas clothing and more donated coats to homeless people.

I wonder if he would rather have a simple meal shared with many hungry people as opposed to pate and caviar on artisan bread toasted golden.

I wonder if I can help my boys to celebrate Jesus' birthday this year . . . by doing all the things HE loves.

In fact, if you want to know the truth, I think my boys might need to help ME to celebrate Jesus’ birthday.  Maybe I am the obstacle that stands between commercial Christmas and Jesus’ Birthday.

 

Just the other day, I went to the boys and asked the annual question. 

To the youngest, I asked, “Corty, what would you like for Christmas this year?”

Without hesitation, he replied, “Seventy-five dollars.”

I know a smile snagged my lips and swung them upward.  “What would you like seventy-five dollars for?”

“A goat.”  Now, if you know my youngest, you know that he would like NOTHING better than to have another animal.  A goat.  A pig.  A chicken.  Any animal is pure delight to him.  So, I’m thinking in my head, “No way.”  But I say, “Where would we put a goat, Corty?”

“Not for me, mom,” he responds instantly.  “I want a goat for the children in Africa.  I saw how much they are in a magazine I was reading.”

And you know those moments when some invisible being sticks a vacuum cleaner down your throat and sucks all your breath out and you are left without speech?  Yeah.  That happened.  Because that wasn’t solicited or prompted.  That.  That?  That was Jesus’ heart pouring out of my sweet boy with unruly hair and freckles sprouting on his milky cheeks.

Later, I asked my eldest the same question.

He replied, “A goat.”

My knees are weak because if you know my eldest, you know he’s got ZERO interest in owning a goat. 

“Did you hear your brother and I talking?” I’m naturally a suspicious person.

“No, mom.  I just don’t need anything this year.  I’d rather help other people.  Please don’t make me come up with a list.”

And I’m looking into amber eyes that sparkle because tears threaten to break free, and I know he’s dead serious.  And I know it was my boys’ lips that were moving, but it was Jesus who was bringing me Christmas tidings of TRUE JOY through them.

Somewhere along the way these two boys with shoulders getting broad and upper lips getting fuzzy have figured out that Christmas is more than an opportunity to get.

Somewhere along the way they have understood that their heart is an inn and they’ve made room for the heart of Jesus to be birthed in them.

And most of us Christian adults are still sending him out back to the stable.  After all, we’ve got Christmas dinner to cook, presents to wrap and cards to send out.  So, if he can wait ‘til after the new year, then we’ll have room and time.  Right?

And isn’t that a little ironic?  I mean how can we sing Joy to the World  and push the very God who brings joy aside until a later time?  If we wish people joy and peace, shouldn’t we invite the very guest who created those blessed states of being?
For unto us a Child is born,
(Is. 9:6)
The child was born unto us.  Right?

So His birthday is our responsibility, right?

So, tonight, I find myself sitting here asking Him this question:

“Jesus, what would you like for your birthday?”

For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me. Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you.  When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’ The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’ Matthew 25:35-40

It’s as though I hear Him saying,

for my birthday, I want

 

To feed the hungry.

To give the thirsty a drink.

To give the naked clothing.

To care for sick people.

To visit prisoners.

So, I start making my list.  I can do this, God.  I’ll give you a birthday bash even the angels will envy.  I’m on it!

And YOU. 

Huh? 

YOU too.  I want you.

I hear the phrases from scripture, “Be still and know that I am God . . . Mary has chosen the more excellent thing . . .Seek ye first the Kingdom of God . . .”

Me?

Everyone and their brother gets of piece of me on a regular basis.  And it hits me, what if WE are the birthday cake?  In our home the birthday boy gets the first and biggest slice of cake, but Jesus is lucky if he gets the crumbs of me.  I’ve got two boys, a husband, a huge family, a massive church family, a job, and well . . . me?

It stops me, you know?

Because life is a hungry beast and the urgent things get my time, my attention, my focus, my commitment.

Could I commit to one month of stillness before God?  Could I give Him that gift?  The gift of me?  Instead of 12 Days of Christmas, could I give Jesus 25 Days of Stillness?

Stillness despite the calendar/day planner that resembles some kind of gumbo made with a year’s leftovers?  Stillness despite basketball season?  Stillness despite all the other Christmas traditions?

But how can I truly know the heart of God if I fail to sit with Him a while?  Who am I kidding?

So today begins the

25 Days of Stillness

And an invitation to my children and husband and perhaps you too? to embark on a new Christmas tradition.  Spend 25 days in stillness and take the final 12 to offer Jesus additional gifts.  Gifts He’s shared with us while we were still.  I don’t know yet what they will be, but I have a feeling they will not look like the Black Friday Multi-Tool Home Depot had on sale or the Rubbermaid Tupperware set from Wal-Mart for $7.  I’m guessing they’ll reflect His heart.

25 Days of Stillness

12 Gifts for Jesus

Come celebrate the birthday of the year with us, will you?
After all, It's a Boy!
Shouldn't that be the message we shout from the tops of our Christmas Trees this year?

The Mothering Chronicles 8: Sometimes Their Hearts Break

This morning my cat sat outside the french door, her eyes like peridot marbles following every step I made.  She was hungry.  Apparently mousing doesn't always fill her belly; she wanted real food.  Just one problem.  We ran out.  (What? You never run out of cat food and have to scramble your precious feline an egg or crank open a can of tuna?)  Now, the truth be told, said cat chose us as her family and refused to leave.  We never--REPEAT NEVER--chose her.  And frankly, I can't say I'm overly fond of her.  She only shows up when mice are scarce or she wants to lay on Nate's fuzzy Georgia Bulldogs blanket.  Usually this happens at 3AM, and she announces her presence with a feral meow that curdles milk. (And in case you were wondering . . . no, my husband doesn' t hear her.)  So I can't say I jumped to open the door and let her in.  But after ten minutes of this pathetic-starving-cat-stare-down, I finally called out to my eldest, "Nate, did you feed Lovely?" (Pass the buck, right?) And then came his reminder that we had been out of food since the night before. And no matter how annoying that cat may be, I couldn't watch her sit there hungry.  Couldn't just watch her suffer.
Later, reading in Genesis--Hagar and Ishamael's story--it struck me how hopeless Hagar must have felt when she was cast out of her home by Sarah and Abraham.  Hagar had to know Ishmael was Plan B all along, the-just-in-case-God-doesn't-come-through child.  But God came through and Isaac's birth erased Sarah's use for Ishmael.  In Genesis 21 we find them "wandering aimlessly through the wilderness" alone and in desperate need of water.  Verse 15 says, " . . . the water in the skin was gone . . ."
No water.
A desert.
A single mom.
No man.
No money.
NO WATER.
Hopeless. 
Life gets that way sometimes, doesn't it?  Parenting, loving, caring for our children can be that way sometimes.  Any mother knows that the only thing worse than feeling hopeless about her own life is watching when a child is broken and hopeless.  And it happens. 
When Cort was a toddler, he contracted a virus that caused little rice-like bumps all over his body.  They were sprouting like grass in spring under his arms, on his chest, his back, everywhere.  The doctor wasn't alarmed, gave us some ointment, and told me to administer it that evening.  Careful not to miss a single bump, I followed his instructions putting the ointment all over Corton's back and stomach.   After a short amount of time, Corton began to scream in pain. Uncontrollable pain.  Slowly, the ointment began to burn his skin.  He was severely allergic to the cream, and we rushed him to the Emergency Room.  The doctors had no idea what was going on or how to alleviate this seemingly allergic/chemical reaction.  Slowly the ointment continued to burn his skin, and layers began to peel off as it ate away at the surrounding areas. His face was desperate.  His screams cut me. I thought I was going to die.  They weren't working fast enough.  They weren't making the pain go away.  They weren't listening to me when I told them to do something. Do.Something.Now.  I remember begging God, "Take this pain away.  Make it stop, God, please."
Our children do suffer.
Sometimes physically, sometimes emotionally.
Hagar was so completely convinced this was the end of her son's life that she put him under a small shrub and wandered a bow-shot's distance away from him.  She couldn't stand to sit and watch her son die of dehydration.  Could not stand it.  And I wonder is that how the mother of the Brazilian girl felt when she left her child in the streets because she couldn't afford to buy food.  I wonder is it what the Ugandan father feels when his sons eyes are dark holes in a parched frame, and there is no clean water. Is this why they abandon their children?  Is it a slow-motion torturing of the parental soul to watch the suffering of one's own flesh and blood?
In their book, Wild Things: The Art of Nurturing Boys, Stephen James and David Thomas write, " . . . it seems that parents who don't let their kids struggle in life are more concerned about avoiding their own pain from watching their children suffer than they are concerned for the kids themselves."
And I want to hit those men and hug them for writing those words because of course the mother is concerned for the child.  Do they not understand that a child's pain is the mother's pain?  There is no human way for a mother to separate the two.  But they are right.  It is because we cannot separate the two that we don't want them ever to struggle.
Scripture says Hagar "wept uncontrollably."  I get that.
Can you see her there, clay colored clothing, face leathered by relentless sun in a world that for her remained dark?  She's weeping for the future her son will never see, for all that she hoped for, all that she wanted, all that could have been.  No, a mother doesn't know the difference between her personal pain and that of her child.  The two are linked and twisted and tied into one chain of emotion that no mother can untangle.  She only knows when her child hurts, when they suffer, she is ripped open with them.  This is the mother's lot.
Yet verse 17 of chapter 21 begins with the most beautiful two words maybe in all of scripture,  "But God . . ."
BUT GOD
And isn't that it every single time?
Apart from God, it is hopeless. Yes. Yes, it is.
BUT GOD
Every single time, every single situation, every single child.  Not one thing is exempt from this reality.  God exists.  He exists, and He loves, and therefore your situation is NOT HOPELESS.
Not hopeless.
BUT GOD.
Scripture says, "But God heard the boy's voice."
We hear our children's heartbreak, and we weep with them.  When they were young, I couldn't bare to withhold food from my sweet babies.  If they cried my entire body insisted they needed food.  (Read:  SERIOUS. MILK. LETDOWN.)
Imagine if a child's tears can wake a mother at night, what must they do to God--their Creator?
God hears your children.
He hears.
They need to know their heavenly father always hears.  When they suffer and we offer comfort, we need to tell them the truth that not only do their earthly parents care desperately, their Father in heaven hears every single cry. Saves every single tear.
Then the Angel of God speaks to Hagar and asks her, "What's the matter, Hagar?" (Gen. 21:17)
Why did he have to ask?  Sometimes I think we need to name our own emotions when it comes to our children.  She was weeping uncontrollably, but what was the root of her tears?  What was the emotion she ultimately felt?
"Don't be afraid, for God has heard . . ." (Gen. 21:17)  Fear.  Her emotion was fear.  Perhaps it was fear she had not only been abandoned by the man who helped her bring this child into the world, but also his God.  Perhaps it was fear not that she had been abandoned, but that her boy had been abandoned, that somehow God's love had missed her son.  Don't we need to know that no matter how fiercely we love our children, their Heavenly Father's love is greater still?
And when our children hurt, when they are broken--because life will break our children at some point along the journey--we need to acknowledge not only their emotions, but ours too.  Because the momma is bound to her child from soul to soul.
Then he said, "Get up!"
She had quit.  She had thrown in the towel, and aren't we tempted to do the same sometimes?
When that child is thirty years old and still refuses to give up drugs.
When that boy is so angry and sullen he hasn't spoken a word to us in a month.
When that girl can't express why she thinks she may like other girls instead of boys.
When she's sixteen and pregnant.
When he's found smoking.
When that toddler has screamed for an hour straight and we don't.know.why.
Yes, we're tempted to sit down and quit.
I have sat down.  I have quit.  I've done that before.
But God said, "Get up!"
Get up my child and keep running this race.  Keep fighting the good fight.  Keep going.
BUT GOD.
Then He said to her, "Help the boy up and hold him by the hand."(Gen 21:18)
I love that part.  Sometimes, no matter how young or how old, how stubborn or how heavy, our children need us to
help
them
up
Just help them up.
And hold them by the hand.
Sometimes there aren't words.  There aren't verses.  There just aren't.
But we still have our hands, and they need us to support them.  Physically help them to get up.  Hold them in our arms, if they'll allow it--just for a time.  Emotionally help them to get up.  Spiritually hold up their arms like the people did for Moses so many generations ago.
And moms, aren't we good at that?  We may not be able to patch a flat tire or fold paper airplanes, but we know how to hold a wobbling hand until steadiness returns, don't we?  We do.
Then God said, "I will make him into a great nation." (Gen. 21:8b)
Those words:  I WILL.
They change everything.
Because when we can't,
HE WILL.
He is the God who is over all, above all, greater than all, He is the God who is FOR OUR CHILDREN.
I remember my first heartbreak.  I was 15 years old and some red-headed boy had snatched my heart and held it long enough that when he let go, it stopped beating for a while.  How often that happens to our precious, young girls and our tender young men. We say, "Be careful."  We insist, "You are so young."  We warn.  We advise. We implore. 
And.
They.
Fall.
In.
Love.
And when it ends, and it often does, they are--for a while--a shroud of who they used to be. 
When that boy told me he didn't love me anymore, I dissolved into myself.  Folded inside out.  Couldn't talk.  Couldn't think.  Couldn't eat.
And the only words of comfort (and I'm sure there were many) that I remember were those of my mother, "I wish there was something I could do to take the hurt away."  It was she who cried when she said those words.  Her daughter was suffering beneath the surface and there were no bandages, no Tylenols that could heal that hurt.
But God.
But God WILL.
And He did.  Only God could reach into the fibers of my heart and weave together a tapestry of His grace, His sovereignty, His peace, His joy, His HOPE.  How much hope it will give us parents to remember that though we may have planned for our children, God Himself willed their presence on this earth.  God Himself has a plan for their lives.  God WILL make them into a "great nation" for His name's sake.  It's His purpose and His plan on the line.
With God, it is NEVER hopeless.
And He will accomplish all His promises concerning our children.  HE WILL. Mother, hold that truth.  HE WILL.
Finally, God enabled Hagar to see a well of water.
I've wondered if, though she never saw it, the well was there all along, or if he miraculously made one just for them.  I like to think God said, "Let there be an oasis."  I like to think He did that just for them.  But ultimately what matters is that He did indeed provide.
He did intervene.
He did make a way for hope's seed to take root in the souls of a teenage boy and his single mother.
And moms, when our children's pains are deeper than the booboos and ouchies of childhood, when they are farther than our hands can reach, when we ache in the corners of our souls for the hurt of our flesh and blood, we need to ask God to "enable us to see the well of water."  (Gen. 21:19)
We need to remember that it is He who is LIVING WATER.
Isn't it perfect, certainly no coinsedence, that Ishmael was a young teen at this time.  Likely he was physically stronger than his mother.  We don't really know.  But it was his mom who went to the well, filled the skin with water, and brought some back for her boy. 
Sometimes bringing them water is just that, a cup of water.  Sometimes it is a list of the scriptures that have carried us through difficult times.  Sometimes it is the retelling of those times in our lives when we despaired . . . even of life.  Sometimes it means getting a good counselor.  Letting them talk to a trusted friend.  But know this, mommas, there are times when we carry them. Even when they're grown.  Not forever, but for a season.  Not enabling, but empowering.  I'm not talking about being the mom whose son is forty and lives at home on her couch.  I'm talking--and I think your spirits will agree--about being the mom who knows when her child needs just a sip of water. 
A sip of hope.
But God
God Will
"But now, O Lord, upon what am I relying?  You are my only hope!"  (Psalm 39:7)

Pray with me:
God who sees, God who hears, God who is hope, will you teach my mother's heart to rely on you?  To expect you?  To anticipate your intervention.  To look for you in the horizon when the reality of my child is a deep pain?  When my own reality is pain?  Will you help me, Lord to cling to the truth that YOU WILL work, YOU WILL heal, YOU WILL men, YOU WILL cause hope to rise?  Amen.

Scrambled Eggs with a Side of Bacon

My life is a plate of scrambled eggs--the kind you get at those twenty-four hour waffle places--flopping over the edge of the plate and suffocated by tomatoes, cheese, chili, slivered scallions and diced ham. Way more than any normal human should consume in one week let alone one year, I find my mouth full, my hand forging a path between plate and face. I'm a very focused person--when I gave birth to the boys, I determined I wouldn't scream, yell or curse. I attained that goal by keeping my eyes closed, thinking only of breathing and pushing. But somehow now, as I look about my home, there are so many miscellaneous things that manage to find their way in my home--not going to admit to inviting them myself--I hardly know where to begin to focus. Like the egg platter topped with the entire month's groceries, my little world lies under a heap of things. I'm left wondering where to begin. Charles Hummel wrote a book aptly titled The Tyranny of the Urgent. I don't even have to read the contents to know it relates to me. For mothers the urgencies of a self-mutating laundry pile, cabinets that empty themselves weekly of their groceries, floors that are really magnetic dirt grabbers, toilet seats that look like they caught the drips of a ceiling leaking strange yellow moisture, and the child whose voice got stuck on repeat, "I'm hungry." all inhale our time before we even consider some of the bigger tasks left undone. There are jobs to go to, school projects, or in my case school lesson plans, window-sills infested with ladybug skeletons from last fall, and four years worth of unprinted digital photos that also clamor for our attention. Add to that paying bills, planning birthday parties, and kids' extra curricular activities, and the calendar starts to resemble a piece of paper that you put through the printer twice on the same side! " Hummel writes in his book, "Have you ever wished for a thirty-four hour day? Surely this extra time would relieve the pressure under which we live. Our lives leave a trail of unfinished tasks. Unanswered letters, unvisited friends, unread books, haunt quiet moments when we stop to evaluate what we have accomplished." Hummel really nails the heart of it for me when he mentions the unvisited friends, the unanswered letters. Once thriving under your attentive care, precious relationships somehow get neglected because the basic physical demands of life insist on taking priority. My sister and I were just talking last night, a chance we both treasure because of its rarity these days, about how we mourn the loss of time to interact more with those we love. I don't mind the laundry or dusty sills so much as my heart aches to spend more time with the lady I talked to for an hour at my son's football practise who tells me of losing custody of her children because of years of hard drug use. Or the dear mother who tells me she doesn't believe in Jesus as the Savior. Where is the time for me to research her questions and offer her some intelligent answers? Then there are meals waiting to be cooked for families infected with sickness, diseases that refuse to release their grip. There are marriages aching, and there are teens with much to say and few who listen. I used to think people could get most things done if they'd just get organized. God has since humbled me, helped me to see the needs of this world are greater than the strength of my arms. Where once I kept a thousand plates spinning at full speed, I now see that there are ten thousand more stacking themselves beside me, bidding me to toss them high into the air as well. Realizing this reality of life is one step toward smiling at the mass of scrambled eggs and putting the fork down. Accepting that we weren't really meant to eat all that food, to spin all those plates, that is a real challenge. This week, as needs have surfaced at every turn, I'm reminded of Psalm 46:10, "Be still and know that I am God." Another translation says, "Stop your striving and recognize that I am God." Stillness. Now that's a state of being about which I know very little. Naturally a doer, a goer, a go-getter, stillness is as foreign to me as it is to a wiggling worm. And yet, scripture says be still, stop striving. Why? Because we are NOT God. "Recognize that I am God." Nowhere in scripture does it say, "You need to take over for me, Sarah." Trust me. I've checked. I love the name for himself that God selects in this passage. It's the same name He used in Genesis 1:1 when He said, "In the beginning, God..." What a perfect choice because He's always existed, He was there at the beginning, He penned our places in this world, and He didn't need us for any of that. It is indeed He who remains God even now amidst this great tyranny of urgencies that screech out like a band of black crows. Forgive my boldness when I say followers of Christ are deceived if we believe that God is depending on us. That He will use us, even delights in using us to share His heart with the world is undeniable, but to say that He needs us is simply not true. The lives of people about me will continue to function whether I am involved or not. I will miss out on growth and glimpses of the greatness of God if I choose to turn a blind eye, but God doesn't abandon His purposes when one of his people is too busy to carry out His plans. That's not how He works. So often we hear well meaning Christians say things like, "If you don't do this, who will?" To that, I would humbly answer, "God will make a way because He IS the way." By saying that, I don't mean that we get a pass excusing us from getting our hands dirty and our feet wet in the lives of the people by whom we are surrounded. On the contrary, I find myself knee deep wading in the waters of people's worlds all the time. But it is truly prideful to believe that we are the only ones that can handle every circumstance. Often us "doers" or "Martha's" end up robbing the less type A personalities of a chance to get involved because we are so quick to assume we are needed in every area. What God is whispering to my soul is this, "Sarah, stop striving. Stop fretting over every single situation and circumstance by which you pass. I've called you to abide in me. Apart from me, you can't do anything. Draw from me. I will teach you the way you should walk.I am the God who formed all of this world. I formed these lives. I know these needs. I am their God. I will order your steps. Listen to me. Seek me. Don't lean on your understanding of situations, I will make your paths straight." The lives I touch, the people I assist, the conversations I have, they all need to be responded to not because of their place in line, who made the request or how loud they call out, but in the order that my Father whispers to my Spirit. As I seek Him in prayer He will usher me to the people and circumstances with which He desires me to be involved. It's been a long time since I went to the Waffle King, but this much I know. Those plates filled with eggs under a mountain of artery clogging cholesterol can be very enticing. I love a little bit of everything on my plate. But when it comes to life, though it too is filled to overflowing, I'm choosing to sit still before my Father and allow Him to be God. Stopping. Stilling. Waiting. Allowing God to bring to the surface those bites I'm meant to chew requires trust that He is indeed God over all the universe, God over all the details, and that He remains able to meet every single need. After all, it was Him who created us all. Read with me: Psalm 46 Galatians 6:9,10 Pray with me: Father, let me hear your voice. When I look around I can become overwhelmed with the needs surrounding me--my children, my family, my friends, my neighbors, but they aren't really mine, are they, Father? They're yours. Help me to remember you care far more than I about all these needs. I confess my pride in assuming I could tackle life apart from you. Help me to walk only in the steps you have chosen for me. Help me to surrender to your ways, your plans, your will. Help me to be still and recognize you are the Strong God who Reigns over all. Amen

Felling Trees

April showers bring May flowers. Surely the person who first gave wind to those words lived here in the mountains of Georgia because April seems always to be the month of deluge before May inevitably pins sun's yellow yolk to velvet blue skies. This year the rains have been accompanied by tornado warnings, crazy buckets of hail, darkened skies electrocuted by lightning and convulsive thunder. It's been years since I've seen a spring with this many storms in short succession. At the entrance to our subdivision, my neighbors' house sits beneath towering poplars and oak trees. I called to check in on them after we'd passed yet another spring storm, when they told me they were going to have some trees cut down. Explaining that during the previous nights' winds they watched those trees sway perilously close to their home, they were confident that left to another nasty storm, those trees could do significant damage to their life's investment. I understood. Easily twice the height of their three story home, I couldn't help but consider those trees as I drove by their house later that week. No matter the soundness of their home, it remained no match for the havoc those poplars could wreak. They would have to be felled. Psalm 29:9 says, "The Lord's shout bends the large trees and strips the leaves from the forests. Everyone in his temple says, "Majestic!"" In our lives, have we not known some great and insurmountable tree that towers dangerously close to the people and things we hold dear? I've watched drug and alcohol addiction sway over the heart and mind of someone I desperately love. I've seen foreclosure notices cloud the skies and crowd the lives of dear friends, and I've known pain and hurt left to grow into giants that threatened once happy marriages. Yes, I've known trees that needed a good felling. And our God is able to do that with one shout. One single shout from our Creator bends the very things that threaten to overtake our lives. Just as the storm the other night sucked the dogwood blossoms from the arms of their trees, one shout from our God strips circumstances of the power they appear to have in our lives. Psalm 29 goes on to say, "The Lord sits enthroned over the engulfing waters, the Lord sits enthroned as the eternal king." There's a dam not far from our home that serves to regulate the amount of water held in our lake and used for power production. Only a few times in my life have I known that dam to be filled to capacity and the waters to pour over like the falls of Niagara. It is in that state now--a surging army of frothy water perpetually cascades over the dam. Armed with cameras, people are driving out there just to see the sight. Flooded lives though are not so breathtaking, are they? Interestingly that is the word David uses here to describe the water. Flood. It's the same word used in Genesis to describe the great flood of mankind. This is the only other place in the Old Testament where that same word is used. Imagine a situation so great in David's life that the only thing he could liken it to was the very flood that swallowed humanity, plants, animals and life in one gulp! What I love about that passage is not the description of the circumstances but the picture David painted of God. God is sitting enthroned over the engulfing waters. Reminiscent of Jesus' own slumbering amidst New Testament storms on the Galilean Sea, our Father remains so in control that he has not even had to get up off his throne to handle the situations in our lives. He is still on the throne of all creation, still seated as sovereign King. This is our God. So able, that though the contents of our lives may appear to be overflowing and our own ability to hold them together may be entirely maxed out, He remains unfazed and utterly able. The last verse of that chapter says, "The Lord gives his people strength; the Lord grants his people security." I love grants because they are free. God requires nothing in the granting of strength to his people. The Hebrew phrasing here implies a military type of strength. The idea that when things seem beyond our ability to handle, God will bring in reinforcements is so reassuring. The reality of our lives is that He never leaves us to face giants alone. He never turns His back when the waters spill over our worlds. Instead, He freely gives His people the security of knowing that He remains enthroned. Remains able. Remains in control. Our God remains. So my neighbors will have a tree guy come do his thing. He's an expert in the taking down of trees whose limbs threaten the stability of a home. But what about you and I? Where will we turn for the felling of situations and circumstances in our own worlds? It is so tempting to take matters into our hands, to exhaust every avenue possible to find resolution. Yet there are times when the truth is we need to simply, "Be still and know that He is God." (Psalm 46:10) A picture comes to mind of little me planted like a spider inside some small lifeboat at the edge of the dam attempting to prevent myself from being carried over the edge by the rushing water. Furiously rowing, I am fighting a battle never meant to be won by my feeble arms. There are times in our lives, when we have to surrender to the flood and the trees and the storms. There are times when we need to ask God to help us see the spiritual world around us instead of the physical. What if in that same picture I could see God--the greater, invisible hand that cradles my little boat. "Faith," my friends is the very "substance of things hoped for, the evidence not seen." (Hebrews 11:1) We may not be able to see the hands of our Father at work, but we can stand in the security that He is working. May we hear the shouts of our Father. May we sense His presence. May we live amidst the storms in the greater reality that our God remains on the throne, unfazed. "And if our God is for us, than who can stand against?" (Romans 8:31)

And There Before Me Lay a Chasm

I remember standing what seemed like a thousand feet high above solid ground on a three foot by three foot square, harnessed and attached to a bungee. The purpose was to jump, to defy logic and bound through the air towards concrete knowing that inches before I cracked open like an egg that rolled off the counter to the floor, I'd rebound and the elastic chord would shoot back toward the heavens, a human yoyo. All of this for fun. Yet when my feet found their heels attached to the remnants of what was solid and their toes pinching only air, somehow, they weren't so sure it was going to be much fun. What human in their right mind ever chooses to drop off any cliff? Life though, is so full of cliffs. One day you are meandering through meadows, bluebirds bantering back and forth and honeybees sipping cotton covered clover. Then you turn around and there before you lays a chasm. We even know they are coming. We're taught to expect them. Jesus promised them when he matter of factly mentioned, "In this world you will have troubles." But still, like the frigid waters of some wild mountain river they suck the breath from our lungs and render our limbs numb with shock. Some are greater than others--the ones that when you dare look down to see if perhaps you might find some way across, or over, or through, you see no bottom. No floor. No end. Then there are those that at first glance appear not much broader than perhaps your most intense running stride. You can jump them. You can swing over. Somehow you manage. And once across, you wipe the nervous sweat from your palms and exhale deeply. "Shoo. That was a close one. Thank God we made it through." But those deep ones. Those long ones. They remind me of the Mediterranean Sea. When the boys and I look at that body of water on the map it seems so small. Yet to the Grecian fisherman standing on her shore, The Mediterranean does not appear to have an end. He can't see the other side. That's what the long cliffs are like. They're the ones you face when the doctors tell you she's a beautiful girl with so much hope for the future, but she'll never stand upright in her adult years--some rare disease has moved into her body and refuses to leave. I listened to a man tell this story just today. Or the orphanage that has enough food for the over 100 children who call it home for only one more week. Then next week comes. Autism. Your major supporter has dropped you. Stage 4. HIV positive. No work tomorrow. Another lay off. I don't love you anymore. The teenage child who looks into your eyes and says, "let me live my life." Alcoholism. Chasms. Deep, deep chasms. And no human in their right mind would choose to drop from one of those precipices. They wouldn't. But they come anyway. We can't stop them. Part of the curse, yes, but knowing that doesn't make navigating them any easier. When I was preparing to bungee jump a too-skinny, grey faced man in baggy blue-jeans gave me clear instructions. I thought I understood them until I reached the crest and looked down. In that moment I remembered none of them. "One. Two. Three. Ma'am? One. Two. Three." "Don't count," I told him. "I'll go when I'm ready." And I did. I jumped down into that darkness. Not because I wanted to anymore. Not because I thought it would be fun anymore. Not because I thought I'd be better for having done it. Only because I'd come that far--there was really no turning back. And only because I believed the chord would hold. It had been strong enough to hold someone twice my size just minutes before. It's that way in our lives too. We've come too far to quit, too far to stop when we see just how dangerous life can be. And The Anchor will hold. I've found that to be true. He promised, "I will never leave you nor forsake you." "I will be with you until the end of the world." So we jump. Jump head-long into the realities of our lives--the chasms, whatever they are--knowing now how things will end up, but to whom we are harnessed. And we trust that His strong right arm is enough to carry us home. And it is on these truths I stand before the cliffs in my own little world. sometimes remembering all the other stuff doesn't matter. What matters is knowing we are held-firmly--by a God who isn't in the business of dropping those whom He loves. "Because he holds fast to me in love, I will deliver him; I will protect him, because he knows my name. When he calls to me, I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble; I will rescue him and honor him. With long life I will satisfy him and show him my salvation." Psalm 91:14-16

When Dawn is Delayed

I awoke yesterday, and the trees were a thousand fingers stretching from the hands of the hills, their fingernails painted yellow,red, and orange. Mostly they are dogwoods--red like sunburned salmon--whose leaves are dyed to declare the glory and existence of their Creator. Today though, I awoke and the sun had not yet climbed above the hills, the dogwoods and sourwoods slept silent, and the sheet of night still covered them. Not normally very cogniscent at pre-dawn hours, I was surprised to find myself considering the stark difference of my two mornings. One, like a rooster crowing or a trumpet announcing the greatness of our God, had captivated my heart with the vivid reminder that God must exist,that creation could in no way have just happened. The other was a dark and silent morning where the only light came from switches I turned on. Where on this second morning was God? Naturally my heart considered the two extremes--the mountain top experience when the hills are alive with the music of their Creator and the black hour before dawn when the absence of light somehow causes one to ask where is their maker? We're all so different,our lives so varied, that it is hard to say what will be darkness for each of us. Something as insignificant as a burnt souffle or as magnificent as the loss of our spouse can both bring a darkness of soul upon us. Yesterday my eldest son, Nathan was working on a difficult assignment for school. Off to a good start, his instructions were clear and he seemed to understand fully what his work held for him. I had gone downstairs to begin lunch preparation while he finished up. When I called for lunchtime he didn't respond. I poured the boys' milk, and still, he did not come. I called a second time. When finally he crested the stairs, I knew he had met a darkness of the soul. The assignment had been overwhelming to him. Normally a diligent, persevering student, I was surpsied to see his eyes swollen and face polka dotted with pink splotches. He had been crying. "You're going to be mad at me. I didn't get it done at all," he gurgled out between sobs. And I thought, No. No. I'll not be mad. I'll hold and comfort you, and then we'll tackle that assignment because I know you can do it. But first you must know you aren't alone. Though I was just downstairs--still present and ready to help--somehow he had assumed he was entirely on his own, and he felt helpless. That, my friends, is a darkness of the soul. We come to that point don't we? As Christians? We do. Just this week I've talked with four beautiful women whom I love, all of whom are walking through the pre-dawn hours of life. Divorce. Bankruptcy. Children wandering far from home. Overwhelming circumstances. Struggling with feelings of inadequacy for the demands of their lives, these beautiful, incredibly talented women are walking through the dark. And though they may not have faces puffed from sobbing, their hearts are swollen with grief. I wonder if they, like my son, feel as though they've been abandoned to a task far too hard when in fact their Creator is near. When Nate felt entirely alone, I was only feet away. In the same way, when we feel completely abandoned, our Savior has never left, never forsaken. We are not alone when darkness lingers. We are not. I sat with Nathan--held him in my arms and read to him from Galatians 6. Reminding him of Paul's encouragement to the people of Galatia to not grow weary in well-doing, I told him that in life there will be lots of assignments that are hard, that in those moments we can give in to our own fears and feelings of inadequacy, or we can persevere. Then I took him to Romans where Paul reminds us of something so important. While we feel unable to meet the task at hand, Jesus is praying for us. "Nate, while you were upstairs crying and feeling completely unable to do this assignment, your Savior was literally sitting beside God pleading for you. He reminded God that you are His child, that you need help. He's still praying now. He never stops." I couldn't help but think how we adults need to hear those words sometimes. Romans 8 begins with some of the most potent encouragement in all of scripture, "There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus." When Nate came down those stairs he was already condemning himself; he certainly didn't need my condemnation. He was convinced I would be furious with him for not finishing the task, when in fact I was filled with compassion for him and reminded that he is just a child. And aren't we just the same sometimes? We condemn ourselves when Jesus has already paid the price for our sins. There is no longer any condemnation no matter how much we feel like failures. We need to know our Father is no longer slinging the gavel declaring our guilt. His compassion for us as His children is new every single morning. Paul goes on to address what is happening in the spiritual world when we are in the dark. "In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints in accordance with God's will. And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. What, then, shall we say in response to this? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things? Who will bring any charge against those whom God has chosen? It is God who justifies. Who is he that condemns? Christ Jesus, who died—more than that, who was raised to life—is at the right hand of God and is also interceding for us. Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword... ...No, in all these things we have complete victory through him who loved us! For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor heavenly rulers, nor things that are present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord." (Romans 8:26-36, 37-39) Spiritually speaking sometimes we wake up only to discover the lights have gone out. In those moments we need to know that we are not alone; we are not condemned to struggle through the apparent blackness of our lives. Our Savior lives to intercede for us, to plead before the Father on our behalf. Though we may not see the tangible evidence of His presence--the splendor of the autumn leaves alight with the rise of the sun--He remains near. Ever present. The ironic thing is that Nathan had everything he needed to complete that assignment. It wasn't that I had not equipped him practically. His problem was that he doubted himself and what I had already taught him. He panicked. We're reading Pilgrim's Progress right now and at one point in the story Christian,the main character, finds himself locked in the recesses of Doubting Castle. Despair has begun to overtake him when he remembers he has been given a key called Promise. Promise will unlock any room in the Castle of Doubt. He had the key all along and failed to use it because he had forgotten about Promise. We too have the promises of God to open the doors of doubt. Among my favorite is, "His divine power has given us everything we need pertaining to life and godliness." (II Peter 1:3) There is nothing we will face for which we have not been given everything we need to pass through it. Remembering the promise keys of God's Word is so critical to walking through the valleys where the shadows have darkened the skies of our lives. Christian, weary from a rugged and dangerous mountain climb, also finds himself before a castle where he wishes to rest. He sees it in the distance and longs for some peace and a place to lay his battle-worn body. But in the path there are two great lions and he is fearful that they will overtake him. I've thought long about those lions. There's a passage in Proverbs that says the sluggard will not attempt a task because there are "lions in the street." (Pr. 26:13) Just as he is ready to run for his life a voice stops him and says, "Do not fear the lions! They are chained. They are there to turn back those who have no faith. Stay in the middle of the path, and you will not be harmed." Christian made his way past the lions and though their roars echoed through the valley, they could not harm him. Darkness is on a leash. Our Father holds that leash, and there will come a day when darkness will no longer cloud our view. Until that day we walk not by what we see, but by the promises of God's Word. After hugs, comfort, reminders of truth, prayer and a little lunch--food never hurts a situation--Nathan finished his assignment with surprising haste. It wasn't simple. He was stretched, but he finished. I wouldn't give him something he couldn't do. Your Father won't do that to you either. If perhaps you've awoken to a dark time in life, it's my prayer that you'll continue in the truth that your Savior is praying for you, that the Holy Spirit is interceding on your behalf, your Father has leashed the darkness, and you are not alone as you pass from black of despair to dawn. And if you are awakening to a time in your life when the sun has revealed the splendor of your King then I pray you will record those images into the recesses of your heart so that when darkness comes you will have them to remind you that your Father exists, your Savior prays and your Holy Spirit intercedes. Pray with Me: Jesus, thank you for sitting beside my Father reminding Him of my needs. Thank you for intervening on my behalf over and over and over. Thank you for your Promises God. Remind me, Holy Spirit of those promises when my heart wants to doubt. Teach me to walk in darkness as though it were light because Your word says that even the darkness is not dark to you, Father. In the name of my Savior and intercessor, Jesus, Amen.

Are You Striving?

The school year and a full season of family getting together, apples bobbed and birthday songs sung, curriculum and gardens,--they've all left me with little time for recording here the words God speaks to my heart. And today is as full as all the rest so I'll only tell you briefly the outline of a melody I pray God is setting to music within me. The book of Zephaniah is a short one--short enough for me to read each day for a while now. And a beloved sister in Christ shared a verse recently in her own blog that turned me onto the book. (http://jewelsightings.blogspot.com/2009/08/ache-of-love.html) There's this third verse in the second chapter that gives me pause when I pass through. "Seek the Lord's favor, all you humble people of the land who have obeyed his commands! Strive to do what is right! Strive to be humble! Maybe you will be protected on the day of the Lord's angry judgment." And I can't help but wonder how many of us are committing our lives to seeking God's favor. I can't help but ask how many of us are waking up each day insisting it is a fresh start and that today, on this new day, we will strive to do the right thing. Today we will strive for humility and pray for God's protection. I can't help but consider how many of my greatest efforts include striving and seeking after God. And I can't help but picture Jesus, hands pierced, side scarred at the right side of God uttering prayers so intense, so full of pleadings and grief saying, "Father, Father let them cease. It was already finished so long ago. I paid for this already, Father. I ended the striving. God, open their eyes that they might see the truth. Father, was my death in vain? Father, was the suffering in vain that they would walk still as uncertain, unloved people seeking the favor that was already bought with my life? God make them see." So often when we read old testament passages we take them to mean we too should follow their advice. In context though, they are generally the reality of the Israelites and if we continue on we will discover as is the case in Zephaniah, that God knew all along humanity would never attain his favor, would never measure up. We will discover that He had a plan to restore all mankind to himself that didn't include human effort. Towards the end of Zephaniah God starts talking about the bigger picture when he tells the Israelites that "they will find safety in the Lord's presence...they will graze peacefully like sheep and lie down; no one will terrify them." What a beautiful picture of peace--a sheep who grazes to fullness and lays himself down on a bed of sweet swaying grass! Sheep don't strive, they don't stress, they don't attempt and work. They eat, and they rest. Do I? Is that my life's chief purpose when I rise? To drink in the goodness and sweetness of my Father and to rest in His capable, powerful, loving, perfect character would appear to be all that He ever intended for me. Let me just say, Satan may not know you, but apparently he knows me well. He is very clear on one point with me--I tend to like to buy the striving material and ignore the resting stuff. I tend to love to work, to do, to aim for, to seek after and that is his golden ticket with me. It goes a little something like this: Sarah, why aren't you teaching Sunday School? Sarah, shouldn't you volunteer for the nursery? Sarah, shouldn't you make a cake for the ministry staff and drop it off at the church office? Sarah, shouldn't you pray longer? Sarah, why aren't you getting up even earlier--reading more scripture? Let me just be clear on this: acts birthed from guilt or obligation have not found their origin in a loving, living relationship with our Savior. It's as though he's literally saying, Sarah, God doesn't love you because He created you, He loves you when you do the right things. And that, my friends is a lie from the very pits of hell. He LOVES us because we are his fearfully and wonderfully made creation. He loves us because He invented LOVE, because to not love us would mean He was no longer God because GOD IS LOVE. We have His eternal favor because Jesus said one evening in a garden of surrender, "If it's possible, let this cup pass from me, nevertheless not my will but thine be done." And then only hours later while breathing his last He said, "It is finished." In those moments the curtain in a temple that signified the holiness and righteousness of God and the pathetic attempts at reaching and appeasing Him, was literally shredded in half forever removing the barrier between us and our Father. Long ago, it was finished. Why in the world would we continue then, to bring modern day sheep and lamb and doves as offerings to a God who is no longer waiting in the holy of holies, but is literally walking beside us as we carry our ridiculous cages filled with atonement offerings to present before Him. He's not waiting at the alter for our efforts. He's just not there. He's not hungry for the aroma of burnt lamb, his nostrils are full of the fragrance of His Son and that is all he smells when we stand before Him clothed in the garments of our Savior. Zephaniah goes on to say, "Shout for joy, Daughter Zion! Shout out, Israel! Be happy and boast with all your heart, Daughter Jerusalem! The Lord has removed the judgment against you; he has turned back your enemy. Israel's king, The LORD, is in your midst! You no longer need to fear disaster." To live as a sheep involves some serious release--release of our preconceived ideas of religion, of Christianity, of God. It also involves some letting go of our own personal pride--we'll never be good enough. We need to just decide that now. Never. We'll always come up short. So, we might as well stop trying. Here's the beauty though--a life that has ceased to try is free to be the new creation it already is in Christ. Yesterday the boys and I were bouncing on the trampoline. Up and down we bounced and bounced never really getting anywhere, just bouncing. Eventually I bounced myself into complete exhaustion and I lay down on that big stretchy black circle. I looked up and the leaves were floating in the sky, their green backs saturated with the sun. I thought what would it be like to hang from the branch with my only job being to take in The Son? There's something to be said for exhaustion--it forces us to lay down and look up. Pray with me: Lord, you already earned our favor before God. I'm so sorry for trying to continue to get what you already paid for. Show me where I'm striving and teach me to cease. Teach me to graze and rest in who you are. Let the rest be an overflow of that grazing and resting. Amen. Read with me: Romans 5:18-21 II Corinthians 5:17

Sailing into the Storm (part 3)

I'm way too much of a perfectionist to live without regret. I've always admired people who without hesitation insist they have walked through the past to the present with no regrets. You may be one of them--the kind of person who looks at every mistake as an opportunity to learn and embraces them for what they are. Now don't misunderstand me, I do learn from my mistakes and I believe readily that God is sovereign amidst every misstep in my life. But I'm not going to lie to you--there are a thousand things I'd do differently if ever given a do-over card. It's interesting though because in God's economy there is a perfect way to live, albeit rather narrow, but perfect nonetheless. And yet "there is none righteous, no not one." (Rom. 3:10) No man's soul has ever slipped into eternity without first having missed the mark of God in some way. And God holds us to that standard which is why He can say about a good man or woman--maybe Mother Theresa, "Even you fall short." (Rom. 3:23) But though He holds us to that standard, He also miraculously and completely releases us from every shortcoming. I'm not talking about a license to do whatever we want, (Rom. 6:1) but I am talking about a God who somehow demands complete holiness and yet forgives and repairs every failure and poor decision we will ever make. Just yesterday I read a quip on a local country church: God doesn't measure us using the curve; He uses the cross. Somehow amidst our mess ups in life the miracle of grace is allowed to bloom like the first crocus of spring budding in a bed of winter snow. When Paul stood up to encourage the sailors, prisoners, soldiers and captain on a ship whose end was certain destruction, he knew the reason they were in this mess was a result of poor choices. Certainly they regretted ignoring Paul's sound advice with everything in them. After all, Paul had warned them that setting out to sea was dangerous and he knew that pushing forward into the Autumn Mediterranean would result in loss of life. They hadn't listened. Sound advice was given to them and for reasons unknown to us, they left Paul's advice in the wake of the ship as they set sail. How many times have I been given sound advice, been warned about a decision and pushed on because the current of my own agenda was stronger than that of the counsel I received? My guess is those men on that ship wanted to deliver those prisoners as quickly as possible. Perhaps the centurion responsible for Paul had a wife waiting back home for him with a belly full and ready to deliver his first child. Maybe the owner of the ship would receive some additional remuneration for seeing to it that every prisoner arrived by spring. Perhaps they genuinely believed it was the best thing to do despite what Paul had told them. Now Paul says something that I think is worth pausing to take in. Paul reveals some of his humanity here. I can't get over his inability to resist saying, "I told you so." Here we have a man who is responsible for spreading the message of Jesus all over the New Testament landscape and the guy who penned the very words we commit to memory from book after book of our scripture. When he stands up to a slew of desperate and depressed men I can't help but notice that he couldn't resist reminding them of the advice he gave. "Men, you should have listened to me and not put out to sea from Crete, thus avoiding this damage and loss." (Acts 27:21) He just had to say I told you so. Did it really matter that he had given them advice and they hadn't listened? I only point this out because I think it's important that we see our heroes of the faith in their humanity. They, just like us are mere humans following Jesus. Just knowing that Paul, the man who was confident enough in other passages to tell people to emulate him, live like he lived, had the occasional human tendency gives me a little hope. Let's go on. He says to these men who have gone beyond looking into the horizon with worry and fear to a resignation that their lives are on a slow-motion journey to the bottom of the ocean's floor, "And now I advise you to keep up your courage, for there will be no loss of life among you, but only the ship will be lost. For last night an angel of the God to whom I belong and whom I serve came to me and said, 'Do not be afraid, Paul! You must stand before Caesar, and God has graciously granted you the safety of all who are sailing with you.' Therefore keep up your courage, men for I have faith in God that it will be just as I have been told." (Acts 27: 24) I think it's worth mentioning that these men worshipped gods like Zeus, god of thunder and lightning and Poseidon, god of the sea. Can you imagine worshipping gods like this your entire life and finding yourself collapsed on the deck of a ship, water sloshing around your wet ankles resigned to the belief that those gods must not care enough for you to calm the storm and quiet the sea? Surely they prayed to their gods, begged them for mercy. Remember when Elijah had the contest with the prophets of Baal and they called out to Baal for an entire day pleading with him to light their sacrifice? "They invoked the name of Ball from morning until noon, saying, "Baal, answer us." But there was no sound and no answer...Throughout the afternoon they were in an ecstatic frenzy, but there was no sound, no answer, and no response." (I Kings 18:26,29) It is no wonder these men literally gave up hope--they would have pleaded and begged their gods to intervene only to discover their cries for help fell like the waves around them into a sea of unanswered and misguided prayers. Their gods were silent. Silent. My heart has always broken for these men and I have to marvel at how similar I am to them. How often do I put my hope in my husband's job only to find it disappoint? When he loses his job we discover who the true God is. How often do I put my hope in that of a friend only to discover they cannot fulfill my needs? When they don't have time for us anymore we discover who the true God is. How often do we put our hope in our savings account or our retirement funds? When the stock markets falls like anchor of a ship we discover the true God. How often do we put our hope in great men and women of the faith? When they fail in some human way we discover they are not the true God. How often do we place hope in education or in doctors? When our children aren't getting well, we know the true God again. And here's one I constantly have to catch myself on--how often do I put my hope for our children in the way we are raising them? If we do everything right, surely they'll turn out okay. Wrong. Just ask the mother or father who prayed daily, raised them well, loved them well, taught them about God and then watched their child walk away. There are no guarantees. None. My children have free will and that truth forces me to confront the reality that only God can truly grip their hearts. Though most followers of Jesus would say they are monotheistic--worshipping only the one true God, I have to wonder if God himself wouldn't say, "You have become like the Israelites worshipping the gods of the world around you." Usually we don't realize we have formed idols from worldly ideas until we count on them and their complete silence break out hearts when we've cried out. It's then we realize we were crying out the name of our idols and not the name of our Father who loves us desperately. The other thing I love about this passage is this: these sailors made a grave error in judgment and God still moved in their situation. Paul looks them square in the face and says, 'you messed up but there will be no loss of life because the God that I worship? He wasn't silent. He sent an angel to speak to me last night and told me that He still had a plan. His plan is for me to go before Caesar and nothing, not even this storm will stop Him from accomplishing His purpose.' God will not allow any other God to get His glory--He always shows up. Always. He always shows himself strong. Always. Because his love does not depend on our perfection. And though these people made a significant mistake, He still reigned. His purposes for Paul's life would still be carried out. Period. This is such an incredible truth--God is sovereign even when we screw up. He knows we are human and He allows us to be exactly that, but that is the exact definition of mercy. He sees our needs and meets them. He doesn't change us so that we have no needs--that He's reserved for eternity--but He meets them over and over and over again. His grace says, 'Behold I love you with an everlasting love,' and His mercy says, 'And I see you messed up, but I knew you would and I have charted the purpose of your life with this in mind. I'll not be thwarted. I'll reign amidst the chaos.' This is our God--the one true God. So would I change some of my decisions in the past? Do I regret them? Sure I do. I've been tossed by the storms of poor choices and I'd have far preferred avoid those storms, but has God proven Himself faithful and worked each of those poor choices out for my ultimate good in the end? Absolutely. Without question He has never left me disappointed, never left me in the muck of my humanity. He has a strong right arm and He has never withheld His hand from me. Never. Paul had hope because when he gazed into the black of the storm He saw the light of the face of Jesus and remembered His words, "I'll never leave you. I'll never forsake you." Oh that we could know those words in the deepest marrow of our bones, the very fiber of our hearts when we stand hopeless amidst the storms that rip our spirits apart. I'll close with words Paul wrote to the Roman church, "Now may the god of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you believe in him, so that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit." (Romans 15:13) Do you believe in the God of hope? Pray with me: Father, God who is literally hope, teach us amidst the storm to believe in who you are. Your word says you are the God who is hope. Your word says hope does not disappoint us. Lord, teach us to anchor ourselves so deeply in your character that when storms come we see that though they rage around us they do not change our position in You. Spirit of God may your fruit of hope overflow from the branches of our lives. In Jesus name, amen. Read with me: I Kings 18 Romans 8:6

Sailing into the Storm (part 2)

They said it was the wind that caused the accident, that it happened in an instant--his motorcycle vacuumed into the path of that tractor trailer. The life of a young, healthy father ripped from his sweet children and wife and not a moment to say goodbye. One morning he left on his bike and all was calm, normal. And then the storm. I will never know the ravage that ripped at this family from the moment they heard their daddy wasn't coming home. I will never fathom the depths of grief that wife and mother felt when she lay that first night in a bed empty of the man who loved her all those years. But I bore witness to their tears. We picture how our lives will be--whether we mean to or not. And most of us don't picture the storms. Acts 27:14 tells us that not long after the flutters of south wind passed by "a hurricane-force wind called the northeaster blew down from the island. When the ship was caught in it and could not head into the wind, we gave way to it and were driven along." I've never been on a ship in a storm, but I have given way to the powerful rapids of a river. I've been carried unwillingly to the place of the water's whims. What is incredible in this passage to me is that word driven. The Greek word indicates that they were no longer in control--the storm was now driving that ship. I can see that captain just as he releases the controls, hangs his head and turns his back on all human attempts to navigate that ship surrendered to the thrashing will of winds and waves. He had to come to the point of realizing he couldn't control where they were going or what would happen. Sometimes the storms in our lives are so intense, so powerful that we realize we are not in control. Driven by the force of the storm, we have no idea where we will end up. We need to know in those moments that though we are no longer in control it isn't the storm that dictates where we will land. It is our Father God who controls the winds and the rains of those storms. It is our Father who says to the wind "You may blow." and then later "Quiet. Peace be still." And it is our Father to whom those winds and rains always submit. We need to know in those moments that there is nothing that can thwart the purposes of our Heavenly Father in our lives and that He will accomplish all that He intends. (Is. 14:27) In that understanding comes a sense of release. A sense that when we've done all we can do, when we've prayed all we can pray, when we've done all things responsible, and when we've wept every tear left in our heart we can be still and know our Father reigns. Still. He reigns. (Ps. 46:10, Is. 52:7) Verse 18 says that they were "battered by the storm." The Greek word means that they were violently beaten by that storm and then verse 20 goes on to say something that just rips my heart up. "When neither sun nor stars appeared for many days and a violent storm continued to batter us, we finally abandoned all hope of being saved." Those sailors needed the stars and the sun to navigate. They spent nearly fourteen days without seeing the light of day and you and I need to know when we are in the midst of dark hours of the soul that there are those who have gone before us. We're among a company of many who have passed through the black of night to see the Spirit of God reach down and rescue a heart that is without hope. Here's the thing--those sailors thought they needed the stars to navigate where they were going. But God does not need human mechanisms to bring about His plans for our lives and often He removes them to help us see that it is God who is at work within us. (Eph. 3:20) Scripture says they through their cargo overboard. They did everything they could to lighten the load. We do that too, don't we? When we sense the magnitude of the storm we begin to lighten our loads. We'll do whatever it takes to stay afloat. Suddenly superficial things become insignificant--the things we thought we couldn't live without are cast over the ships of our lives without a second thought. Financial ruin? We don't need satellite TV. We don't need that second and third vehicle. We can live without going out to eat. In fact we can live without going shopping for anything but essential food. Marriages being ripped apart? Maybe I didn't need all that "me time" after all. Maybe all I really need is face to face time with the man I committed to marry. Maybe I really didn't need to win all those fights. Maybe I just needed to love him. Children struggling? Nothing else matters. We'll fast. We'll pray. We'll cancel every appointment, we'll leave work early and we'll call in every family member and counselor and pastor we know to give us advice. Because when a storm comes we see instantly all that really matters in our lives. In my opinion, that's a wonderful place to be. These sailors actually abandoned every shred of hope that they would be rescued. They were so convinced of their death that they actually quit eating. What, after all was the point of fueling a body doomed to be consumed by the ravenous jaws of the Mediterranean? Have you ever been through something so intense that you just really couldn't keep doing the things required for living? I mean there are griefs that can grip the heart of a man so deeply he no longer showers, he no longer cleans his house, he no longer gets out of bed. I've seen that grief in my days. And there are shocks that wave through families so powerful that they no longer go to church and they no longer get together with their friends. Who of us would be honest if we said we've never felt utterly without hope? And here's the funny thing--it doesn't take a tragedy to bring us to a place without hope. Sometimes the drudgery and constant gnawing of the day to day requirements of our lives brings us to the point of being so down that we just can't get up. It's at this point that Paul stands up--can you see them all there, faces in hands, numb, cold, wet and cavernous and empty without hope? There, strung about loosely along the deck of that ship no longer gazing into the charcoal horizon, they know the sun isn't going to break through before they are swallowed by the sea. It is to this group of sailors and fellow prisoners that Paul speaks these words: "Men, you should have listened to me and not put out to sea from Crete, thus avoiding this damage and loss. And now I advise you to keep up your courage, for there will be no loss of life among you, but only the ship will be lost. For last night an angel of the God to whom I belong and whom I serve came to me and said, 'Do not be afraid, Paul! You must stand before Caesar, and God has graciously granted you the safety of all who are sailing with you. Therefore keep up your courage, men for I have faith in God that it will be just as I have been told." On this day, in this hour in your life I don't know what situation through which you may be journeying, but I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that the promises in God's Word remain true. I love that Paul said he was confident it would be just as he had been told. In other words he was insisting that whatever God said would come to pass. This is the truth of our lives too--what God says is true. Period. No matter what waves are standing higher than the sun in our lives, no matter what rain has ripped at our faces until we are blinded by the impact. "Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence not seen." (Heb. 11:1) We stand not on what is before us, but on the guarantees of the God who promises to never leave, to never forsake, to be with us through the valley of the shadows of death, to be an ever present help in times of trouble, to be near the broken hearted, to comfort, to love. You'll never find me dancing a jig of joy in the face of a storm, but I pray that you'll find me believing still in the pure and perfect goodness of my Father. Pray with me: God, you have taken through storms. You've brought me to the other side. You have proven that you will not leave me or abandon me to the ravages and disappointments of this life. Help me Lord to believe when my heart doesn't want to, doesn't have the strength to anymore. Lord, help me to honor you with my belief--to proclaim to a world that you remain the hope of all nations. Jesus, it is you that lives through me. Help me to surrender to the power of your life within. Amen. Read with me: Psalm 42

Sailing into the Storm

What human who has cast a glance seaward has not forever been impacted by the liquid-gems poured out for miles that surpass the sight line? The sea. My forefathers crafted wooden ships that would navigate the prism waters and sailed the seas with skill. I suppose it is in my blood though I've never sailed. So the story recorded in Acts 27 and 28 holds particular appeal to me because of the setting--The Mediterranean Sea. Guilty only of loving his Jesus, Paul finds himself a prisoner on a journey across the Sea to plead his case before Caesar. It's late in the year and Julius the Centurion in charge of Paul along with the sailors knew that though they had orders to deliver this and other prisoners to Caesar, embarking on a journey this long was dangerous. And yet, they set sail. If you will, walk with me through this passage a while. The first few verses use phrases like, "sailed slowly,"or "sailed under the lee" and "sailed along the coast." These skilled sailors were scared. They knew the dangers that surrounded them and they hovered along the coastlines of various islands and cities in hope of being sheltered from vicious winds. I love that they played it safe. We are so similar aren't we? We make sure we have 401k's and we take our multi-vitamins. We carry life insurance and look for jobs that provide benefit packages. Sure, it's common sense to do those things, but it's also playing it safe. Wouldn't you agree? If there is a natural shelter available, we're gonna sail the ships of our lives pretty near it aren't we? And there's nothing wrong with that at all--in fact I'd probably call it being wise stewards of our lives. When my husband and I moved from Ontario back to Georgia to be nearer my family one of the things that we gave up was the shelter of health insurance. We purchased it for our children, but not for ourselves. And I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel completely vulnerable. There isn't a morning that passes that I don't pray for God's protection over Jeff and that I don't look forward to the day when we again will have the harbor of insurance. But here's the thing--I know of so many people without health insurance for whom God has provided their medical needs. Hundreds of thousands of dollars worth. In God's economy He just provides. Whether He provides through Bluecross/Blueshield or through an agency that helps people with cancer the bottom line is that it is still God who has provided. "And my God shall supply all your needs according to His glorious riches in Christ Jesus." (Phil. 4:19) As humans we like to compartmentalize provision and say that out of the ordinary provision is from God and the rest is just us taking care of ourselves. Surely God laughs at our audacity to actually think that anything we have could have found its source in anything other than His gracious hand. Scripture says that their sailing became difficult along the coast of Crete as they headed into the beginning of October. Paul knew that their lives were in danger and though he was a prisoner, he wasn't afraid to mention his concerns. "Men, I can see the voyage is going to end in disaster and great loss not only of the cargo and the ship, but also of our lives." (Acts 27:10) Proverbs 22:3 says, "A prudent man sees danger and takes refuge, but a simple man keeps going and suffers for it." It's ironic that the captain and owner of the ship--the individuals who should have known better--both insisted that they should continue on this voyage. The greatest expert in our lives is the Spirit of God and yet so often we ignore his still small voice and listen to the voices of those around us. Spiritually speaking any course we take that poses even one iota of threat to our walk with God is a dangerous sea on which to sail. I'm talking about buying that one item on credit because next year we think we'll have the money to pay for it. I'm talking about gossiping just that one time because that morsel of news is just eating a hole in our tongue and we're dying to share it. While taking that course may not have immediate implications, we are opening the door to loss not necessarily of physical life, but definitely of abundant life. So they continue on their journey and "when a gentle south wind sprang up, they thought they could carry out their purpose, so they weighed anchor and sailed close along the coast of Crete." (Acts 27:13) Here they are sailing and what relief they must have felt when that south wind began to cool their faces as they stood on deck--that reassuring calm that gave them confidence they'd be okay despite the facts they knew to be true about sailing this late in the season. We all know the expression "it's the calm before the storm." It was. Here in the mountains of northern Georgia, the wings of Appalachia, we enjoyed several years of economic calm--houses going up, construction booming, new restaurants opening, people buying bigger trucks, more equipment, more, more, more. It wasn't sustainable growth and surely people knew the facts. It doesn't take a genius to realize that houses can't double in value every three years forever. Yet so few saw danger and took any sort of preparatory refuge. Often in our families we have prolonged periods of calm--everything seems wonderful--the kids are doing well in school, they're doing well with friends. Or in our marriages--we've been getting along well, we enjoy each other's company. Or in our churches--the new building is going up, offerings are coming in regularly, people like the new youth pastor. Calm. But are we prepared for the storm? The reality is that storms come. They do. We may have relative quiet for years, but in our lifetime we will face storms. This passage is so powerful because Paul faced the storm and lived to tell his story and somehow amidst all that he goes through, His faith in God remains the anchor that holds. We'll continue this story, but for now, let me just ask in what harbor do you seek refuge? Because here's the thing--there is shelter in the God who has loved you with an everlasting love. His arms will not fail in times of trouble. On this you can stand. Pray with me: Father, show me the areas in my life where I am enjoying relative calm and need to prepare for what may lie ahead. I know you told me in your Word that in this world I would have trouble, but to be of good cheer for You have overcome the world. Teach me to take refuge in the shelter of your wings. Teach me to seek harbor not in the coastline of worldly protection but in the shadow of You, the Most High God. Thank you that your Word promises you are with me always even in the shadow of death. Amen. Read with me: Psalm 91:1 Jeremiah 31:3 We'll continue to sail...I hope you'll join me again for part 2.